Hogmany Haggis Hunting
by Molten-Ashes
Summary: "Sideswipe is stuck up a tree, with a nest of Adders slithering around underneath it. Jazz is too busy laughing at him to be of any use and Optimus has been through a sparring match with a few Red Deer..." Ahh, the dangers of the Scottish Highlands...


Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers

Please R&R!

(A Happy New Year gift fic for all my readers and dear friends! Enjoy!)

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He had gotten hopelessly lost in the wild hills of the terrain.

His battle Computer was having a fit to itself, spewing out illogical thought processes that declared that it _couldn't_ get him lost.

"Fragging well looks like you've got me lost." He muttered to the advanced portion of hardware hotwired into his processor as he stumbled over the second large tangle of bracken in as many minutes. Cursing with a low growl at his misfortune on the steep slope, he startled a large mammalian lifeform from grazing, twelve bone points cresting high above the creature's helm. It gave a startled snort, rearing up onto its haunches before prancing away across the thick purple heather like a swan gliding on a lake.

His far reaching scan identified the creature as a Red Deer, a stag to be precise that was beneath the intelligence level he was looking for.

"Hey, Prowl!" a voice called from the valley floor, making him peer down at the glowing golden beacon that Sunstreaker represented in the low hanging fog and drizzle, "You might want to get back down here! Bluestreak has fallen in the tiny river again!"

Sighing despairingly, Prowl carefully picked his route down the hill side, skidding ungracefully on the large rocks and pebbles that came free from the soggy earth beneath him. "This place is a nightmare." The Tactician huffed, spotting Bluestreak flailing wildly to keep himself up right while his pede seemed to be caught in the small crag that snaked its way across the countryside to join in with the main river thundering towards the sea around seventy miles away. "The native inhabitants call them Burns, Sunstreaker," he commented mildly as he peeled back some turf to examine the problem, while Sunstreaker braced the grey, red highlighted gunner to stop his comical flailing.

"Why are we even here Prowl?" Sunstreaker sniffed disdainfully as Bluestreak chattered apologies to the Second in Command that was in the middle of working the young mech's pede out from the gooey silt lying a few inches under the clear water. "This drizzle is going to leave marks on my paint, and don't get me started on the mud, grass and rock scratches that my pedes are getting."

"Agent Simmons decided that we needed to have somewhere 'bigger' to run amok for a few days while they had a few days off, rather than restrict us to the nice sunny weather of Diego Garcia, he picked one of the most cold and dreary places he could think of. It just happened to be that an Agent from the British MI6 happened to be on base when he was picking places to 'dump' us for a 'training exercise' over the New Year Celebrations." Prowl narrated, finally tugging his little brother free, the silt giving with a loud squelching noise.

"But why did we have to split up into groups of three?" Bluestreak asked, testing the various gyros and gears in his pede warily, not trusting the mud and sand that still covered his armour not to have sucked something vital out in his moment of distress.

"Less environmental damage apparently," Sunstreaker snorted, quoting their Prime who had looked positively gleeful at the prospect of exploring and examining all the native wildlife while the humans had organised a mission of sorts for the troops stretching for nearly twenty miles along the countryside of Scotland.

"I'm starting to think that this hunt is just a ruse to wear us out for the week." Prowl sighed despairingly, looking up the mission directive for the fifth time that orn. "The dimensions of this 'Haggis' creature make no sense. It can only run clockwise around a mountain because two of its legs are too short?"

Bluestreak giggled in excitement, doorwings fluttering as he too accessed the data file, "According to the mission there are two different types of Haggis, the normal Haggis runs Clockwise round the mountain because its two right legs are shorter than its left and the Vegetarian Haggis runs anticlockwise round the mountain as its two left legs are shorter that its right. The Hunters have to figure out which type of Haggis they are chasing and make it run the opposite direction so that they fall over."

"Seems entirely too easy." Sunstreaker grumbled, huffing quietly to himself as the drizzle increased into heavy rain, the wind howling between the mountains, frosty and wild.

"Come on." Prowl sighed, rubbing a servo over his optics despairingly turning to make his way up the mountain again, "We might see one if we get to the top of this hill, then I can get back to those reports that Oprimus and Jazz literally dragged me away from."

"Keep telling yourself that, big brother." Bluestreak snorted, bounding up some large boulders with Sunstreaker in tow, nearly running into a tree as the fog lifted with the wind. "Jazz just needed to bat his optics at you."

"Damn trees." Sunstreaker growled as Prowl struggled to come up with a suitable reply, several branches scored his bright gold paintjob when they moved up into the denser area of the forest.

The top of the mountain was a barren plateau of rock, heather and moss growing sparsely around the edges while muddy puddles of water created odd pools in the mysterious holes in the slabs of stone. "Oh what a wonderful waste of our time! There is nothing up here Prowl!" Sunstreaker snarled, kicking a boulder in his temper, the grey rectangle of mineral withstanding the golden mech's attack, a tiny chunk splintering off.

Prowl sighed as the frontliner spat curses at the now crumpled armour on his pede, scanning the horizon, dilating his optics when the fog and rain suddenly lifted, the sun beginning its journey to meet the horizon that sported the knobbly mountains like blunted teeth. To his surprise, he spotted a small village beginning to light up down below them as evening rolled in.

"At least we have until midnight to catch a Haggis." Bluestreak shrugged, finally having calmed the grumpy golden mech sulking around the perimeter. "I wonder where the others are?"

"Hopefully they'll give up soon." The black and white mech muttered, checking over his paintwork with a curled lip of disgust at the mud and scratches that decorated him. He wasn't a vain mech by any stretch, but he did have his limits. "Bluestreak, use your thermal imaging scope to search out any creature that might resemble a Haggis."

"Yes, sir!" the sniper grinned with a salute, setting up his sniper stand and laying down on the rock, his armour grating on the stone beneath him as he subspaced his rife and scope, shifting into a comfortable position so that he could spy down one side of the mountain.

"Time check." Prowl asked, scanning over the ground below one of the sheer drops for any other sign of life. "Coordinate Lock on the Village is 57.00.08N/3.23.44W."

"Five o clock." Sunstreaker grumbled, taking a few image captures of the scenery for his painting when they got back to Diego Garcia. "Don't know why these humans are making a big deal out of tonight; it's just a new year on their calendar."

"The year changes at precisely midnight, when the calendar rotates back to January." Prowl explained dryly, "I heard from Jazz the humans up in this part of the world have something called a Ceilidh, to celebrate."

===10:30PM===

The atmosphere was breathtakingly cold up on top of the mountain, the small pools in the rock having solidified hours ago under the clear skies filled with the burning stars clotted with wispy grey clouds illuminated with the bright silver disk of the moon.

"Prowl, we have a large amount of movement down in the village." Bluestreak reported urgently, rising the tactician out of his reports that he had tucked away secretly in his subspace. "A large volume of noise just started up as well."

"That would be the ceilidh starting then." Sunstreaker grumbled, squinting over the light of the data pad he was doodling on.

"They appear to be doing some ritualistic dance." Bluestreak continued with a hint of anxiety, "One human is dancing in the middle with seven others dancing around them in a circle," the young gunner suddenly jerked back in mild horror as his imagination ran away with him, "Oh my Primus! It's a burning ritual!"

"Calm yourself, Bluestreak," the second in command of the Autobot faction snorted firmly, taking out his own thermal imaging scope to examine the scene far below them, zooming in on the vigorous jumping and twirling heat signatures. "It's just an Eightsome Reel; Jazz showed me it on the internet when we still had connection. He tried to get Blaster and a few others to try it one day when they were full of High Grade. Let's just say we nearly had an international incident…"

"I'm sending out a beacon Prowl." Sunstreaker called over, his servo held to his helm, receiving news from the other search teams, "Sideswipe is apparently stuck up a tree, with a nest of Adders slithering around underneath it. Jazz is too busy laughing at him to be of any use and Optimus has been through a sparring match with a few Red Deer stags, several bits of antler are stuck in his cabling, causing problems. Hound thought a set of bagpipes was a Haggi call and tried to investigate and scared some partying campers."

"Tell everybot to convene on our position, I'm calling Agent Simmons for pick up. This is ridiculous." Prowl ordered as Bluestreak rose with a stretch from his post, both Praxians jumping when a loud shrill wail, like the cry of the bagpipes the Scottish humans seemed so fond of, echoed around them, presumably from the village below. "Keep an optic out Bluestreak, and turn your headlights on so that the others can see us up here."

The dialling tone was irritatingly slow as Prowl radioed into the Base on the ground of the Balmoral Estate, his doorwings flicking in annoyance when Agent Simmons decided to pick up his phone. "Ahh, Prowl, how are my favourite Haggis Hunters doing?"

"Simmons, based on how smug you sound, I'm guessing there is no such thing as a Wild Haggis, is there?" Prowl growled, temper fraying as the heavy tred of his comrades began to echo up the side of the mountain, mutters and curses rocking the hill along with the snapping of various branches, drowning out Seymour for a few minutes.

"Of course there are Haggis up in the mountains." The ex-Sector Seven agent laughed, the various background giggles of William Lennox and Robert Epps confirming the SIC's suspicions about their 'Training Exercise/Mission' in the Scottish Highlands.

"You do realise that I am alien being that is much bigger than you and can easily misstep next time I see you in a corridor, don't you?" the Praxian purred, giving Jazz a glare as the silver mech took a flying leap at him for a hug as he crested the hill.

"Uhh…" the humans on the other end stammered, trying to come up with an excuse, "We're sorry Prowl," they tried to beg, "We just thought it would be fun! We didn't think that your internet connection would fail. We thought you were out this long just to humour us!"

Another, louder Bagpipe wail split the air.

"Sideswipe!" Prowl snapped, whipping around to scowl at the gathered Autobots, all looking muddy, scratched and miserable in the cold air, Jazz giving a squeal of surprise when he was nearly jerked off his pedes by his lover's sharp movement. "Stop trying to impersonate a Haggis, you're not fooling anybody!"

"It's not me!" the silver twin replied, skidding past him with a flail on the icy surface of the mountaintop flashing silver in the moonlight. "I didn't read that far into the mission statement!"

"Then what the…?" Prowl growled as something zoomed over the top of the slightly slanted hill.

All of the Autobots gave shouts of surprise, headlights flashing on like floodlights as the rodent like creature stopped before the tactician, two legs shorter than the other, facing sideways to the slope so the smaller legs were hitting the ground. The small chest billowed out like a sail and the loud shriek of a high pitched note of a bagpipe spewed forth from the creature's open mouth. The mechs stood stupefied for a moment before the thing zipped off, running clockwise round the mountain in wide spiralling circles, disappearing back into the undergrowth.

"I'll call you back…" Prowl rumbled cutting the communication link as the Autobot forces took off after the wayward beast. "Happy New Year indeed…"

* * *

A/N: The Coordinates of the Village are real by the way.

Happy New Year! (and Haggis Hunting!)


End file.
